


All In The Line Of Duty

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Explicit Consent, F/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Safeword Use, Spanking, but a bit late, commanding Jack, pff, phrack argument, then make up sex, with handcuffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 17:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: When a stake out goes wrong Phryne and Jack have a blazing row in Jack's office, if only there was a way for them to excise their frustrations...





	All In The Line Of Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Aubrina for being a fantastic beta and smutty-cake companion! We realised we were writing similar fics so decided to mix and match as betas. Smutty-cake for all in our glorious new world order!

Jack adjusted his hat and peered once again out through the shattered window of the abandoned warehouse. Unsavoury smells and rough voices cut through the dank air of the dockside ally; even late at night this part of the city was never entirely quiet. He waited patiently, whilst Hugh sat twiddling his thumbs on an old packing crate by the door, occasionally sending nervous glances towards his mentor. If everything went to plan it would be more than worth the wait; tonight, they had an appointment with a murderer.

Phryne of course was holding the bait, which came, this time in the form of Robbie Green, a dock worker and small-time crook who had agreed to identify and testify against their suspect – a man known locally as Charlie Hands - in return for a certain leniency in a minor matter involving bootleg gin. Considering it reasonably likely that their informant would make a run for it if not closely watched, Phryne had suggested she accompany him in disguise, in order to discourage any last-minute jitters.

If Jack was honest, he felt a certain ambivalence about this plan; part of him would probably always worry when Phryne put herself in danger. The fear of losing her, as he had so many others during his life time still lurked under his more rational exterior, despite his complete faith in her abilities. Then again, seeing her in her element, all perfect control and effortless brilliance, warmed him with an admiration that bordered on awe.

She had taken the obvious choice for a woman loitering in this part of town and disguised herself as a working girl. Jack had watched in fascination as she prepared her disguise, admiring way she could make her richly tailored gowns into something so cheap with nothing more than the set of her shoulders. Gods she was magnificent. She was also well armed under the slit skirt that displayed a tantalising glimpse of black stockings and creamy thighs as she moved. They had agreed to take no chances with either Robbie Green or Charlie Hands – especially as the latter had earned the moniker through tendency to solve matters with his fists. She would be fine, Jack reassured himself firmly, she knew what she was doing.

He couldn’t see her from their hiding place; the plan was for Robbie to pose as a punter, he and Phryne could lurk, partially concealed in the entrance to the small side ally where Jack was waiting. Charlie was known to come this way on his regular visits to a run-down watering hole by the docks, infamous for its suspect clientele and contemptuous disrespect for licencing laws. As soon as Robbie confirmed the identity of their suspect, Phryne would lead him down the ally - ostensibly to conclude their business in a more private location – then the Inspector and Constable Collins would head out past them to make the arrest.

This elaborate subterfuge should keep Robbie from suffering any unfortunate accidents before trial. Charlie Hands already suspected him of skimming the take when they were selling bootleg gin together, if he realised he was talking to the coppers too, Robbie’s days would likely be numbered. The plan was not strictly protocol, but it did have the advantage of putting Phryne in charge of Robbie Green. Jack had seen the way the man looked at her, the poor bastard would probably stare down wild tigers if it meant five more minutes in her company. He smiled wryly to himself, she did tend to have that effect on people.

It was quite a good plan, but Phryne’s involvement left it in slightly murky legal waters if something were to go wrong, and as Jack was painfully aware, any number of things could potentially go wrong.

Just around the corner Phryne and Robbie were pretending to haggle over the price of her services, establishing their cover whilst they waited for Charlie to pass through on his way to The Slap and Tickle. Robbie was nervous, Phryne had her work cut out for her keeping him calm whilst avoiding any unwanted attention. Really, aside from a moderately nice arse, the man had no redeeming features at all. She could certainly think of more entertaining men to go undercover with – one man in particular. Still, it couldn’t be helped.

They didn’t have long to wait, a bald, bullish man with a face like a bad bag of pork scratchings lumbered along in the direction of the pub. Robbie heard him coming and stole a glance backwards under the brim of his flat cap. He nodded at Phryne who was able to get a good look and confirm he matched their witness descriptions perfectly.

The problem was that Phryne appeared to have caught Charlie’s attention.

“Alright, darlin’, you want something better than that joker’s got to offer?”

_Shit._

“He’s paid up front,” she eyed the newcomer critically, “give ‘im five minutes I’ll be with ya.”

Charlie continued to advance towards them and she could feel Robbie tense, she needed to get him out of there, and made to head down the ally, praying they wouldn’t be followed. Unfortunately, the gods were not smiling on them. A light came on in one of the windows behind them, flooding their escape route with a grimy, yellow glow. If they moved off now Robbie would almost certainly be noticed.

_Fuck._

Thankfully improvisation was one of Phryne’s many talents. She grabbed Robbie by the jacket and threw enough of her weight backwards that he was now pressing her up against the wall and, never one to do things by halves, kissed him full on the mouth, her hand covering the side of his face. With her other hand she rucked up her skirt, reaching for her gun.

Too late.

The light had already betrayed them. Phryne heard a roar of recognition and anger from Charlie who advanced towards them down the ally, she caught the glint of a knife and murder in his eyes, but she had a grip on her gun now. She let out a curse that was pure Collingwood, shoved Robbie to the ground and let off a shot. It hit home and Charlie Hands collapsed with a bullet in the thigh, dropping his knife and screaming obscenities into the muck on the ally floor.

Jack heard the gunshot and felt all the blood drain from his face. He was up and out the door, running towards the sound before Collins had even left the building. He skidded to a halt as he rounded the corner, guts twisting at the thought of what he might find.

What he found was Phryne, looking exceptionally pleased with herself, standing over the bleeding body of their suspect, her lipstick smeared across another man’s face.

 

 

Phryne was fuming quietly with her feet up on Jack’s desk. He had been unusually quiet on the drive back from the station; even the pointed suggestion that he should ‘debrief her’ didn’t as much as raise a smirk. Then, when they had arrived he had escorted the injured but still mostly mobile Charlie Hands in an interview room and left her in his office.

Oh, he had made up some excuse about suspects responding better to people who had not recently shot them, but that was clearly nonsense. The bullet had barely grazed him, Mac had been called in to avoid the awkward questions that might be asked at a hospital, and she had patched him up in no time. Of course, it might be a little tricky to brush a gunshot wound under the carpet, but Jack had told bigger lies to his superiors over the course of their partnership. It wasn’t as if she’d killed anyone.

No, there was something else going on here and it had nothing to do with Charlie Hands.

Phryne knew Jack had always had a bit of a jealous streak, although he did his best to hide it. Apparently, her completely legitimate attempts to maintain her cover had irked him. The _hypocrite_ \- as if he hadn’t pulled the exact same move on her once upon a time. She gave an irritated humph and helped herself to his whisky. _Men._

They had been romantically involved now for several months, ever since she had returned from London, and it had been wonderful. She had known of course that this would be different, a deeper and more meaningful connection than the ones she had forged with other men. She had known that infidelity on her part would hurt him – something she was determined to avoid if she could help it. What she hadn’t been prepared for was the certainty and the rightness that came with being close to him. When he had pulled her into his arms at the airfield, she had for the first time entertained the idea that she might never want to kiss anyone else again. All of that was fine, and only mildly terrifying if she thought about it too hard. So she didn’t – electing to concentrate on the myriad, delicious ways they could make up for lost time instead.

It was about time something went wrong.  

Jack’s response to her kissing Robbie Green was not the only thing that was bothering her, her own reaction was, if anything, even more disconcerting. As a tactic, it had been entirely justified. It could very well have worked, and then she wouldn’t have had to shoot anyone. There was no reason _whatsoever_ that she should feel guilty about it. _But she did_. She hadn’t even enjoyed it, and that was equally galling. Not only did he have her so besotted that she couldn’t imagine ever wanting anyone else, apparently, she was now unable to enjoy a _perfectly reasonable_ distraction in the line of duty. It was intolerable!

Just as she had worked herself up into a good fury of indignation, the object of her frustrations entered the office and locked the doors behind him. Jack had a feeling that this debriefing was likely to stray into personal territory, and whilst Hugh was the only one left in the station, he still did not relish the idea of an accidental audience.

 _Stay calm_ , he thought. That was the key.

Phryne was not making it easy. She had eschewed her usual perch on his desk in favour of the chair opposite, her feet in their well-turned heels propped up on a stack of his paperwork.

“Did you get a confession?” she asked, her voice business-like, almost terse which did nothing to improve Jack’s mood.

“We did. It might have been easier if you hadn’t shot him first.”

She shrugged, waiving the matter aside.

“I barely scratched him. Besides he would have cut Robbie to ribbons if I hadn’t done something.”

“Yes, and we couldn’t have that.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, razor sharp and dripping with sarcasm. He didn’t even mean them, not really. It had been a difficult interview and he’d needed to balance the need for a confession with the need to ensure the man did not press assault charges against his partner, and he’d been skirting uncomfortably close to the borders of legality in the process. The sight of Robbie Green, looking slightly punch drunk in the wake of the sensual onslaught that was Phryne Fisher, was simply the icing on an already infuriating cake.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Phryne’s voice had risen in pitch and volume and she was glaring at him, suspicions confirmed.

Jack sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not going well at all.

“Nothing. Forget it. Phryne, it’s late, you should head home and get some sleep.”

He had no illusions that she would. The woman was pathologically incapable of doing what she was told. It was one of the things he loved best about her – maddening a quality as it could be.

True to form she didn’t even grace the suggestion with an answer, instead opting to remove her feet from his desk so she could lean in and pin him to his seat with a haughty stare. Damn, she was magnificent when angry, a woman made of solid stone. No wonder so many men had dashed themselves to pieces against her shores.

“I have no intention of apologising to you, Jack Robinson, although a little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss. I did apprehend our suspect – single-handedly I might add.”

Jack could feel his anger rising too. Just once, just _once_ , it would be nice if she thought before she acted. Or even, _heaven forbid_ , called for help rather than rushing in as if she had to do everything herself, then acting as if nothing she did had consequences. He got to his feet and began to pace the room, fighting down his anger. When he spoke, his voice was a low growl, frigid with repressed anger. It made Phryne shiver despite herself, she had always found his rage, terribly, dangerously attractive. Right now, it was filling her with the temptation to push his anger till it boiled over.

“Gratitude. And what exactly should I be grateful for? The fact that you shot a man, or the fact that you compromised yourself with a police informant in the process?”

“Compromised myself? But it was all in the line of duty, Jack. Or is that excuse only acceptable when coming from you?”

He shook his head again, still too angry to admit defeat, although her words cut close to the bone. Kissing Phryne in that cafe had not been his finest hour. It was a liberty he never should have taken, and he had agonised afterwards over his true motivation for it; tormented by guilt, and by the memory of that moment – stark as a lightning flash – when she had kissed him back. That moment when the whole world stood still around them. Kissing her always felt like that. As Robbie Green could now apparently testify.

“How far would you let it have gone, Phryne?” Jack’s voice was infuriatingly calm, and the unfairness of the accusation struck her like a blow, but there was a plea in there too, and that was, if anything, worse. He should know her better than that.

“Oh, all the way, Jack. I put in my Dutch cap especially,” she spat, the venom in her voice could have etched her words in glass.

She had teased him before they set out about being prepared to ravish him at the earliest opportunity, about how the thrill of the chase excited her. The memory stung, and Jack dropped his eyes and began to turn away from her. Sensing weakness, Phryne advanced into his personal space, her face mere inches from his, daring him, wanting to see him snap.

“What’s the matter, Inspector. Worried you might become compromised?”

Jack snapped.

He lunged forward cupping her head, dragging her to him. His kiss was a rough, demanding thing, he was claiming her, but the desperation, the need that drove him came from somewhere deeper; the knowledge that no matter what she did, his heart would still be hers.

Phryne kissed him back with no less passion, melting into him, biting at his lips and scraping her nails through his hair. Every scratch a wordless ‘ _fuck you_. _Fuck you because you know I’m yours_.’ It took a lot of effort for her to pull back, her breath short, forehead resting against his.

“Jack, stop.”

He did, at once. Of course he did; she had never doubted it. She had no desire to pull back herself, but she had to be sure, needed to know this was what _he_ really wanted. That they were in this together.

“Paperwork?”

It was the word they used to let the other know they had gone too far. The idea had been a revelation to Jack, something which had allowed him to let himself go in ways he never had before. This though, was a question, not a statement – she was asking him if he really wanted to do this, making sure this was not something he would regret. If he kept going now, he could do anything he wished unless she said the word again, and so could she.

It didn’t take him long to decide. The station was locked up for the night, Collins would have left to transfer their prisoner to the night cells at the Carlton Watchhouse by now. They were all alone here, in a locked office, and right now, he needed this, needed to excise his demons and bury his frustrations in her.

He nodded, swift and curt, unsmiling, and waited for her to take up where she left off, their lips met again, and she pushed him backwards against the filing cabinets, pressing herself against him with undimmed desperation, buoyed further by the power of certainty; this passion was drawing them together not pulling them apart. It was an important distinction in a relationship where the only thing that could make either of them walk away was the other’s sincere wish that they should do so. It was the kind of love that left a lot of room to inflict unintentional pain.

Confident that she was with him, Jack took charge. He spun her in a graceful arc until she was pressed into the wall, backed up against the map of the city. He palmed her breast through the silk of her dress with one hand, using the other to pin her arms above her head. They kissed again, deep, brutal kisses neither giving an inch. Phryne moaned in need, she could feel him hardening through their clothes and all she wanted was for him to take her, hard. To pin her down and fuck her blind.

“Try something like that again and I’m going to have to arrest you.” He growled into her ear as he sucked at the skin of her neck.

“I’d like to see you try.” She parried, breathing hard.

She was struggling against his hand but unable to break his grip - then again, she had never been averse to fighting dirty – she bent forward and traced the shell of his ear with her tongue before biting down hard on the lobe Jack gasped as the spike of pleasure-pain shot through him, a white-hot flash of fire and steel that went straight to his cock. He dropped her hands, and Phryne pressed her advantage, cupping him roughly through the fabric of his trousers, digging her fingers into the flesh of his arse.

She did not have long to crow over her victory, Jack could play dirty too, and within moments, he had her pressed face first into the wall, her arms held firm behind her back.

“I’m sure you would,” his sinful growl in her ear made her legs tremble, she felt his strong hands slide beneath her skirt, “but first, I will need to find out what kind of dangerous weaponry you have hidden under… aha!” He removed the dagger from her garter and set it on top of the filing cabinet.

“Caught red handed.”

“You can’t expect me to come quietly.”

His grip had slackened as he reached into the pocket of his hanging overcoat, but Phryne still found herself pinned in place by the feel of hot breath on the back of her neck and the hard length of his cock pressed into the curve of her arse.

“No.”

She felt the sharp bite of cold metal around her wrists.

“Repeatedly.”

It was fortunate that Phryne found herself facing the wall at this moment, the sight of her face lighting up like Christmas morning could have quite undermined the mood. Jack still noticed though, even with her back to him he could see the apples of her cheeks rise as she smiled. He shook his head, smirking as he worked his hands back under her skirt; there was a time when even fantasising about this kind of debauchery would have made him feel depraved, but not anymore. Phryne had taught him how to release his dark side, to tame it, to harness it to bring them both greater pleasure. He hoped she understood what a precious gift that had been.

Jack’s hands had found the tops of her stockings, now bereft of concealed weaponry. He snapped the elastic of her garter against her thighs for emphasis and she whimpered in need, trying to push her hips back into him to gain some modicum of relief. Now he had her like this, bound – if not exactly submissive – he was taking his time, exploring, claiming her. His rough hands palmed the silk of her camiknickers, squeezing her buttocks together, tormenting her with anticipation. His fingers found the buttons holding the fabric closed and she moaned aloud as they delved into the hot, wet place beneath the sodden fabric.

“Another dangerous weapon, Miss Fisher? I will have to ensure it stays in the right hands.” A single finger breached her, circling around her entrance then thrusting deep. On the second thrust it was joined by another, then a third, each additional stretch driving her higher and higher. She had to fight down the urge to beg for more, harder, faster, for him to take out his cock and fuck her deep till they were both spent and sated.

She would beg, she knew, before this was over - wanted to, even – but she had her pride, he was going to have to work for it.

He brought his other hand up to toy with her clitoris, strumming and stroking in time to the relentless pounding of his fingers, the duel sensations building to a swift crescendo as her breath came out in ragged, unintelligible gasps and her legs trembled, her hands in their bonds grasping at his jacket and waistcoat where he stood – still fully clothed – pinning her in place. He ran his tongue along the back of her neck, scraping his teeth at a point just below her hairline and she shattered, hard, biting her lip to keep from screaming.

“Is that the best you can do?” she panted, turning her head in a futile attempt to claim is mouth once more.

Jack leant in until his lips were less than an inch out of her reach, his eyes dark and dangerous, his voice rough.

“No.”

He brought his lips down on hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She heard the faint rustle of fabric as he unfastened his trousers, then used the hands still bunched in her skirt to spread her legs wider so he could thrust into her where she stood. The angle was shallow, but he made up for it with speed, pounding into her again and again, one hand on her hip, the other snaking round to cup and squeeze her breasts through the thin fabric of her gown. His breath grew choppy and uneven as he strove to drive her to the edge again. He wanted her undone, incoherent and mindless with the need for release.

With her hands cuffed Phryne was unable to brace herself against the wall, giving her very little leverage to thrust back with. Her pleasure was entirely under Jack’s command and the thought, and the knowledge that she trusted him completely with that power, was beyond erotic. He was so delicious when he took charge, and so very, very good at it. She began to keen again, little sobs and whimpers, the sound of his name; she was close, so close. Behind her back, Jack smiled in obscene satisfaction at the sight she made, bound and desperate and beautiful; it gave him a feeling of such incomparable power to know she wanted this, wanted _him_ like this. She did not need his protection and he would never need to protect her from himself.

He waited until the pitch of her cries climbed and she had begun to curse, a little chain of _fuck-fuck-fucks_ alongside his name, then pulled out of her entirely and stepped back, leaving her to prop herself up as best she could against the wall. The sudden lack of her warmth around his cock made him feel strangely bereft, but it was worth it to see the look of unadulterated need on her face as her head snapped round.

She knew what he wanted, but he told her anyway. It was not the first time they had played this game. She wanted orders.

“Beg.”

Another man demanding that of her would have been left with a very bruised ego and quite possibly fewer teeth than he started with. This was different. Jack was different. She had allowed herself to need him body and soul and to let him see that need. She did not need to hide it from him, she never needed to hold herself back or protect herself from him. It was dangerous and illicit but also freeing, a bright and shining joy in a deep, dark place. The love they had found together was something she could so easily lose herself in, it was a beautiful thing to know that he would never want that, and would not let it happen.

_“Please, Jack, please.”_

A pink flush covered her cheeks and there was a drop of sweat meandering its way down her temple. He wanted to trace that path with his tongue, and as he saw no reason to hold back he did, settling his lips close to her ear.

“Again.”

_“Please. God, Jack, fuck me. Fuck me and don’t stop.”_

He stepped back again, tilting his head to one side, drinking her in, considering his next move. He reached out with both hands and grabbed her by the arms, and despite the strength of his grip Phryne could still feel the love in his touch. His fingers stroked gently against her soft skin even as he made a play of manhandling her.

“Move.”

He pulled her over to the desk and bent her over it, her face now pressed into the wood. This time he eased himself inside her slow and deep, relishing the fluttering pulses of her cunt as she clenched around him, desperately searching for friction. From here the spectacular view of Phryne, bent over and moaning was contrasted incongruously with the sight of his office; the everyday, humdrum view he had whilst filing paperwork or going over case notes, rendered illicit by their actions. Gods he could get into so much trouble for this. He had a woman in handcuffs bent over his desk – men had lost their badges for less.

The ripple of Phryne’s muscles against his throbbing cock and her continued moans of “more, Jack, more, please,” as he slid in and out of her hot, wet cunt were making him dizzy, it felt so deliciously wrong, and gloriously right. He clenched his jaw at the liberating realisation that at this moment, he just didn’t care. All his life he had given himself to duty, to the police force, to his marriage, to King and country, and right now he was sick to the back teeth of nobility. He wanted to take what felt good, and to hell with the consequences.

And so he did - slamming his hips forward, giving himself over to the pleasures of the flesh, taking great satisfaction in doing the wrong thing over and over until the sounds of slapping flesh and Phryne’s curses rose to drown out any lingering guilt and apprehension gnawing at the back of his mind.   

Phryne could feel her orgasm mounting, the pleasure coiling within her climbing up and spilling over in a series of little thrills. There was nothing left in her mind now but the need for release, the relentless sparking along her nerves; she was out of control – had relinquished control, utterly and completely. There was nothing she could do but feel and moan as she was impaled hard and fast on Jack’s thrusting cock. She was close, trembling all over and ready to detonate in an orgasm that would leave her spent and insensible. He knew it too - could see it in the flushed skin of her back where her dress dipped low, hear it in her agonised moans. He slowed, drawing the moment out, teasing her and himself – knowing he would not last much longer either.    

“Not. Yet.” Each word was punctuated by a sharp, deep thrust followed by a slow withdrawal. “Not. Until. I. Say.”

Phryne had never one to obey orders, and she came hard, her view of the glass fronted office door blurred and distorted as she blinked the sweat from her eyes. As predicted, she did not come quietly – it was a very good thing the station was locked up for the night.

The feel of her coming around him was exquisite, Jack could feel the prickle of tension in his spine and there were lights flashing in front of his eyes, sweat was running down his face and the shirt beneath his suit jacket was soaked through.

He could let go, bury himself to the hilt and let the feel of her overwhelm him, but they had played this game before and there were established consequences for Phryne’s disobedience. He brought his palm down hard on the exposed flesh of her buttock, the creamy skin, still bisected by the strap of her garter, flushed red under his hand and she cried out in pleasure at the sudden assault. _Gods she was still coming_. He could feel it all along the length of his cock. He slapped her again, leaving his hand in place to feel the way the blow warmed her skin, gripping her harder as he thrust and thrust and…he was gone. He thought he heard himself moan her name as he poured everything he had into her, his voice cracking as he came apart at the seams in a flood of glorious release.

Phryne felt shaking hands unclasping the cuffs and tossing them aside. Her shoulders ached, and the metal cuffs had grazed the skin where she’d struggled against her bonds, but she could feel the tender care in Jack’s touch as he massaged her shoulders, and pressed soft kisses to her wrists. She pulled herself up and allowed him to help her take a seat on the desk. His eyes were deep and blue and awed, nothing in them but softness and a breath-taking depth of devotion. He leant in to kiss her, sweet and almost chaste, then pulled out a handkerchief to clean her up. She smiled at him, a little dizzily and kissed the upturned tip of his nose, his hair was a mess, tousled and damp with sweat, and his suit was a little more creased than usual, but he had tidied himself away, and otherwise looked quite neat. She suspected that the same could not be said of herself.

He put the handkerchief back in his jacket pocket and sat down heavily, the last reserves of his energy spent. He pulled the chair in close and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling his face into her belly as she stroked the exposed back of his neck.

“Phryne, I’m sorry.”

It took her a moment to understand what he was apologising for, she had almost forgotten about their fight. She laughed, feeling very magnanimous in her post coital daze.

“It’s alright Jack, I imagine it looked a lot worse than it was.” He lifted his head to look at her and she stroked his cheekbone with her thumb.

“What happened?” he asked.

It was the question he should have started with, the irritating interview with Charlie Hands on top of the disastrous stake-out had put his back up, he should have trusted her to explain.

“Bad luck.” Phryne rolled her eyes at the memory. “Some helpful soul turned a light on at the wrong moment. I thought I could get us out of there without Robbie being spotted, but it was too late.” Her voice was uncharacteristically serious. “I would never have shot him if I had a choice, Jack. He was coming at us with a knife and he wasn’t going to stop.” 

“I know.” He nodded. “It was my fault, you should have had the authority to use your weapon without legal complications, you were working with the police after all. Next time I’ll make sure you have it.”

Phryne’s eyes lit up at the offer to deputise her again - she would be sure to dig out her Buffalo Bill badge for the occasion.

“I rather like the sound of that, Inspector. You make a fine commanding officer.” The last words were a satisfied purr as she stroked the lapels of his rumpled jacket.

“Whereas you have never heard an order you didn’t disobey.” He reminded her, fondly. It really was one of his favourite things about her.

“Yes, I fear I may cause you a great deal of paperwork as a subordinate, you might want to reconsider.”

Jack tilted his head, his eyes crinkling in a smile. Paperwork had recently taken on a whole new meaning for him after all.

“I don’t know, Miss Fisher.” He pulled her wrist to his lips again and kissed the marks he had left on her, marks she had wanted him to leave, a shared gift given without guilt or recrimination. “It has been known to have its uses.”


End file.
